


As your shoulders brush mine

by visions_of_hildegard



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Battle, Clothed Sex, Comfort, Dark, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Eye Contact, F/M, Filthy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione is vindictive, Horcrux Hunting, Jealous Draco Malfoy, Jealousy, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Smut, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, War, barely touching but its erotic?, neck touching?? throat kink??, withholding eyecontact
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visions_of_hildegard/pseuds/visions_of_hildegard
Summary: You don’t remember when the bitterness faded, and the tension started.---------------------------------------------------------------Wanted to write an angsty smut fic, taking place during the War. Both Hermione and Draco are in the Order, but honestly -- the plot isn't important. If sharing clothes is a kink, then I have it.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 15
Kudos: 131





	1. When it might have started

**Author's Note:**

> Longtime reader, first fic. Will update with the next chapter tomorrow. 
> 
> I'm very inspired by @SenLinYu's writing, and how perfectly she captures internal turmoil with smut. Her characterization of Draco makes me melt, and you'll see how this fic's dynamic between Draco/Hermione has been influenced by Sen's work. If you haven't read her stuff, leave this fic now and go read that :)
> 
> Not sure if she'll ever see this, but to Sen -- your work is so incredible and encouraging. Hope everyone enjoys! 
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------------

_You don’t remember when the bitterness faded, and the tension started._

It might have been the morning you came back to the safehouse, soaked from rain and sweat, shivering in the same clothes you’d been wearing for days. You had just returned from a failed mission, empty handed when you should’ve come with food and supplies. When you opened the door, you saw Malfoy’s huddled body in a fitful sleep on the couch. 

Malfoy started at the noise. 

  
“Fuck Granger.” He jumped to his feet, wild-eyed as he scanned your body. His hair stood up on one side, and had you not been in a foul mood, you would’ve thought him cute. 

You were about to explain how the meeting point had been burned down, that you came back empty handed. How the muggles who were helping had been killed, you had found them open-mouthed, frozen in their own piss. You opened your mouth to say so, but Malfoy had already lurched forward. 

Immediately, his hands were tugging on your jumper, peeling it off your body. 

“You need to get out these -- fuck, Granger. You’ll freeze.” His eyes searched yours, and you nodded in assent as he tugged off the jumper, leaving you in the flimsy gray camisole you’d stolen years ago. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks, and you felt stupid. He pretended not to notice. 

You helped him unbutton your jeans, your cold hands knocking against his shaking ones. You stepped out of them jerkily, leaning into his chest as his arms grasped your shoulders to still you. 

“Okay. Okay, shit. Let’s get you warm.” His chin was resting atop your head as he said this, his voice muffled by your wayward curls. 

Suddenly, he was carrying you to the bathroom, your head pressed against his sternum and listening to his steady heartbeat. He quickly deposited you into the small shower, and you sat there as he fiddled with the tap for the right temperature. Warm water started streaming down your back, and you forgot to feel embarrassed as you moaned in relief. Malfoy looked away, and you breathed out a laugh. 

“Never thought a girl in her knickers would make Draco Malfoy shy.” You meant to sound cheeky, but your voice came out as a rasp. His eyes darted back to you.   
  
He held your gaze for a moment, his face a mask. But his eyes were still bright. 

“Those ratty knickers hardly make me shy.” 

He meant to sound cutting, but his ears tinged pink. You pretended not to notice. 

Afterwards, he helped you up and quickly wrapped a towel around you. You both ignored your nipples hardening against the cool air, straining against the thin fabric of your camisole. You peaked in the mirror, something you normally avoid. You almost didn’t recognize the figure before you -- harsh cheekbones and dull eyes, long hair pulled back in a braided bun. Frizzing pieces escaping. Your body looked frail, which surprised you though it shouldn’t. The Order had been low on food for quite some time, and you had willingly given up shares to feed members you thought more important. 

“Checking yourself out, Granger?” Malfoy wrapped the towel tighter against you.

He pulled you out of the bathroom before you could answer, and ushered you down the hallway. This safehouse had only one bedroom, and you and Malfoy had been taking turns sleeping on the couch. 

Once in the room, he began sifting through a pile of clothes. The war had been going on now for three years, and you and Malfoy had been at this safehouse for a month. In that time, both of your clothing had intermingled, and now you traded clothes with ease. Of course, his sleeves and trousers were far too long on your frame, but most of your clothes had been handed down from Harry anyway. You were used to living in things too big for you. 

“Here.” He threw some fresh sweatpants at you, along with a t-shirt and knickers. He hadn’t turned away from the drawers, the muscles of his back rippling beneath cotton.

You gratefully switched into the clothing, watching as his shoulders drew up near his ears. 

“All done,” you whispered. He turned and leaned against the dresser, crossing his arms. 

“Get in the bed, Granger.” You nodded, but didn’t move. 

Sighing, he slowly walked over to you, wrapping an arm across your middle as he dragged you towards the bed. 

“Why are you always so fucking stubborn.” He hissed against your temple, as he gently pushed you towards the bed. 

The back of your knees knocked against the mattress, and you clumsily scooted onto the bed. He stood there, staring down at you briefly. He looked pensive, and you suddenly realized how odd it was that he cared. Cared enough to get you warm, to get you clothing. Cared enough to not get angry you came back with no food, though you both needed it. The realization almost choked you.

He suddenly seemed to catch himself. He nodded, and turned to leave. 

You caught his wrist before you could think about not doing it. He didn’t turn back towards you, but he waited.   
  
“Please.” You licked your dry lips, searching for words to make him stay. “You slept on the couch last night.” 

He huffed, still not turning.   
  
“Don’t worry, Granger. You look like you could use some sleep.” 

His voice lacked the usual bite -- in fact, it had been lacking that bite for some time. 

“No, I mean it. Please stay. I would really like it if you did.” You hoped your voice sounded stronger, less tinny than you thought. He waited, taking a deep breath. 

“Alright.” He slowly crouched towards the ground, pulling his wrist from your hand. Gingerly, he lay flat on his back, stretching his long legs out. His shirt rode up his torso, revealing the jut of a pale hip above his low slung pants. He turned his head towards you, catching your eye with a smirk. 

“You prat, get in the bed with me. Sleep next to me. Please.” You felt a sudden urgency to be near him, and that feeling terrified you. _It’s been a long day, don’t overthink it. A warm body is a warm body._

He kept staring at you, as if he hadn’t heard. Slowly, he stood up. Rounded to the foot of the bed, before slipping into it. 

He settled next to you, taking extra care not to touch. The hairs on your arms stood, and you felt something like electricity course through your veins as you listened to his breathing. 

You both lay like that for some time. You realized you hadn’t been this close to him before, not like this. It held purpose, not the usual light touches you could easily ignore. You slowly shifted nearer to him, barely noticing your own actions. Your shoulders were now pressed against each other, hands barely touching by the knuckles. You were both subconsciously breathing at the same rate. You could smell him like this -- like cedar and rain. Something sharp, too. You realized you wanted to drink him in. 

Your fingers twitched at his side, lightly brushed exposed skin at his hip. You heard him hiss, felt his body contract next to you. You weren’t sure how to feel about that sound, but felt a warming in your core. 

Slowly, you turned towards him, snaking an arm across his stomach. Even more slowly, you laid your cheek across his chest. You could feel him still as your breath ghosted across his collarbone, pale and stark in the dim light. 

You felt him shift slightly, before wrapping an arm around you, fingers dancing across your shoulder. You were enveloped in his scent, feeling him still against your inhale. 

It took you some time to fall asleep like that, as you felt him lightly trace your shoulders, your neck. Below your ear. But you remember the steady thrum of his heart, and tracing his hipbone with your thumb. Before you fell asleep, you felt the ghost of a press to your temple. 

_Yes, that’s when things changed. But the tension began before._


	2. When it really started

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is much longer than I expected! Hope you enjoy the angst and the smut :)
> 
> Edit: For those who read Chapter 2 last night (when posted) I recommend re-reading if still interested! I made some edits to the smut, which I think make the scene much steamier. Enjoy and thank you so much for reading!

_No, you suppose that’s not really when it started. When you became aware of Malfoy._

He had joined the Order sometime that first year of searching for Horcruxes, when you were still traveling alongside Harry and Ron. You weren’t involved in his interrogation, though you heard through Ginny’s letters of how the Aurors roughed him up, trying to see if he had ulterior motives. Trying to see if they could break him. That by the time he arrived at Grimmauld Place, he showed signs of sleep and food deprivation, and had fractures in several of his ribs. And that the haughtiness of his school years had been drained, replaced by something sharp. 

_Good_ , you thought. _He’s a leech. Wants to join the winning side now, knowing Voldemort will lose._

But her letters hadn’t quite prepared you for him, had they? And your side wasn’t really winning. 

You easily avoided him throughout that year and half of the next, watching from a distance as he atoned himself. Atone is the only word to describe it -- you had never seen anyone so bent on punishing themselves to prove they deserved life. 

Eventually, you both began to cross paths more often. Your logic and problem solving skills were recruited for battle strategy, leaving Harry and Ron to search for Horcruxes. And Malfoy was constantly placed in the frontlines, mainly due to his ability to employ Dark Magic. No one else was willing to sacrifice their soul, but were plenty happy to let Malfoy do the dirty work. You felt a kinship with Malfoy -- you also were used for your ability to see people as numbers, and draft war strategy to better those numbers. It was a heavy burden. And you found that people hated you, but they needed you. And maybe they hated you _because_ they needed you. 

During that second year, you’d been summoned to Grimmauld Place to discuss the latest plans you’d drawn. It was a straightforward mission: infiltrate a Death Eater encampment in Hastings, and rescue prisoners of war. But that wasn’t the _real_ purpose of the mission -- no, rather the goal was to gather intelligence on spell development the Death Eaters were conducting. Too many Order members had been struck with dark curses that evaded the Healers, and word had gotten out that the enemy was practicing spells on captured prisoners. This particular Death Eater encampment held an estimated 15 Resistance fighters, one of whom was thought to be Lavender Brown. 

Not that the Order actually cared. No, in the end, the numbers mattered. Their numbers were going down, and the days of war were going up at a ruthless pace. And Ron and Harry were still out in fuck knows where, searching for fuck knows how many Horcruxes. 

When you entered the meeting room, you were relieved to find only Kinglsey and Snape there. It was easier when they could just discuss numbers, not dance around the subject. 

“Granger, welcome. I’m curious about these plans -- why isn’t Malfoy enlisted?” Kingsley sounded genuinely perplexed, holding the plans in his right hand at a distance. Pretending to scan them for Malfoy’s name, as his left hand absentmindedly stroked his chin. 

_Ah, right to it then._

You slipped down into your chair, keeping your spine straight as you held Kingsley’s gaze. Snape was a dark blot to your left. 

“I don’t see why he would be needed. Charlie and Seamus can hold the front easily, and Malfoy can be better used for the battle in Leeds.”

_Liar_ , you thought. You had a suspicion that the Hastings encampment currently housed Bellatrix, as you had been tracking her movements for some time. You weren’t sure why, but you had made an effort to keep Malfoy out of missions where Bellatrix might be present. You had seen the dead once she was through with them -- they were hardly recognizable, each uniquely cursed. Dean Thomas had been found with his throat completely torn open, his fingers caked with dried blood. She had cursed him with something that implanted itself into his throat, causing radiating pain so extreme that he’d tried to claw it out. No one knows what killed him first -- the curse or his own self-mutilation. His wand was found broken near his body -- Bellatrix didn’t want to give him an easy way out. 

You knew if given the chance, Bellatrix would relish in punishing Malfoy. And so you stealthily began shifting him to other places, hoping no one would notice. You told yourself he was too vital to the Order, that his skills were unparalleled. You couldn’t sacrifice anyone more to deal out Dark magic at the same rate. But if you really looked inward, you knew that no one in the Order would care if he died, and another body would take his place. Another body for you all to hate because you needed it. 

Kingsley leaned forward, bracing his hands on each side of his chair. In the corner of your eye, you saw Snape shift awkwardly in his seat. Before anyone could speak, the door behind you opened. 

  
  


Malfoy had entered then, softly closing the door behind him. The tension settled like a weight in the room, as you realized they had already planned for your objection. Your spine stiffened further as Malfoy slowly came to stand to your left. You could feel him more than you could see him, vaguely making out a bare forearm in the corner of your eye as his arms rested at his side. He never rolled up his sleeves, usually hiding the Dark Mark out of respect for Order members, and shame for the past. But now you could see it hovering in your periphery, the dark ink marring his otherwise flawless skin. _He really must want to piss off Kingsley_ , you think dryly. 

“Malfoy. Good, we were just discussing the Hastings plan. You’ll be leading the front of the invasion, as you know.”

You could see his tendons stand prominently as he flexed his hands, the movement causing gooseflesh to ripple across your scalp. You whipped your gaze back to Kingsley, already leaning forward to protest. 

Before you could open your mouth, you felt a large hand wrap firmly around the back of your neck. Malfoy began speaking, sounding cool as ever, but you could barely make out the words. 

Instead, you only heard a faint buzzing as every part of your mind was attuned to that hand. Distantly, you heard Malfoy agreeing with Kingsley’s orders, and again you poised ready to interrupt. 

He must have noticed you were about to speak, and sent a warning squeeze around your neck. It was firm, mainly just to the sides of your throat. Not enough to choke, but just beneath that threshold. You stilled at once. 

As if to reward your silence, he gently ran his thumb up the side of your neck. The action sent a jolt straight from the point of contact, right down to your clit. 

Everyone in the room was oblivious to your reactions, but Malfoy’s hand seemed to savor its effect on you. This should’ve angered you more, but you could feel liquid pooling in your knickers. A flush bloomed up the column of your throat, settling beneath his cool palm. He lightly flexed his grip on your neck, and you shifted in your seat to ease the throbbing in your clit. 

_Christ, get ahold of yourself_ , you swore internally. Your heartbeat was stuttering against your ribcage as your mind frantically searched for solid footing in the conversation. Malfoy was still speaking, Kingsley nodding along as he scrawled notes over your mission plans. You still couldn’t see Malfoy clearly, but could feel the heat of his body behind your back. You craned your neck to finally look up at him, hoping to intimidate him enough to drop his hand. 

Instead, he continued speaking as if you weren’t there. His voice held the same indolent tone that you’d know anywhere, but his hand at your throat reminded you of how unnatural this whole situation was. _Who does he think he is, restraining you -- touching you -- like this?_ As if sensing your ire, he pressed his thumb unflinchingly against your pulse. Your blood pounded fiercely, your heart rate ratcheting as you saw the corner of his mouth lift in a smirk. 

And suddenly his hand was gone, and later you’d be surprised to find no markings left there. You could feel him for days. 

You fought to hold in a gasp at the loss of contact, turning back towards the other Order members. Kingsley and Snape had gotten the answer they needed, already standing with the new plans in hand. You wracked your brain to remember what had been agreed upon, and felt rage and shame burn beneath your fingertips. The rest of your body was burning too, but with an ache you tried to ignore. 

You sat in that chair briefly after Kingsley and Snape had left, trying to gather your wits. You heard the soft click in the door, and realized with dread that Malfoy was still in the room. 

Swiftly, Malfoy rounded in front of you, settling to sit atop the desk Kingsley had just occupied. Your gaze was focused on his long legs, sprawled out in front of him so that his knees knocked against yours. You smoothed your trembling hands over your dark jeans before jerking up. 

Mocking gray eyes pierced yours, and you fought not to flinch. Jutting out your jaw, you scanned his face and he scanned yours. _Still paying his penance_ , you think, as you take note of his hollowed features. He looks absolutely _carved_ , for lack of a better word. As if each action towards absolving himself carves away at his flesh, honing each feature like a blade. Lethal. 

He jostled his knee against your own, jolting you out of your study of him. 

“Well, Granger. If I had known you were into choking, you could’ve told me. I would’ve happily obliged long ago.” His words were playful, but his tone and sneer held an edge you couldn’t quite make out. 

“Fuck off, Malfoy.” It was a lousy response, and you knew it. His eyes sparked.  
  
“Language, language.” He tsked, lengthening his legs further into your space. All angles and legs. “You’ve lost your touch. Seems like you’ve lost all strategy skills as well. That Leeds plan is shite.” 

You immediately rose to your feet with unbridled fury. Fury at his arrogance and his touching, fury at your body for liking it. Fury at Kingsley for making you plan deaths to advance the war, fury at the rest of them for not noticing. Fury at Malfoy for not being fucking grateful that you care about keeping him alive. 

“I know this might be hard for you to believe, but I was trying to keep you from Hastings for a reason. I’m not going to send you into a Death Eater swarm when you have a target on your back. It would endanger the entire mission.” 

Your voice came out as a whisper, yet it held enough fire. You were standing somewhat between his legs, your hands fisted at your sides. Careful not to touch him. “You don’t know what’s out there, but I do. I’m the one responsible for these attacks, and I don’t want your blood on my hands. So fuck me for trying to protect you.” 

At that last phrase, his eyes shone with something like satisfaction. He was waiting for this.

  
  


“I don’t need you to _protect_ me, Granger. And I don’t need to hear your about your fucking _burden._ _Poor, wretched Granger. Alone, playing with fate._ ” He spat these words out with relish, leaning his head down towards your face. You strained your neck to keep eye contact with him, not noticing that you were sharing the same puffs of air. 

“You think I don’t notice, do you? Think I’m too stupid to know what you’re doing? You’re not the only one keeping tabs on her, and your obsession with me is getting in the way of winning. Stop looking out for me, Granger. Get your strange _infatuation_ under control.” At this, he splayed his palm flat against your abdomen, his thumb pressing against your hip bone. You felt an iciness wash over you at his cutting words, at his tongue flicking against his teeth with each consonant. He pressed his hand against you, easily pushing you aside before he exited the room. You were left alone, feverish from the exchange.

That day, you swore to never look out for Draco Malfoy again. You started treating his name as any other, moving his body across battles like any other. The Hastings mission turned out to be a success -- Malfoy had slain Bellatrix upon sight, and the prisoners returned with invaluable information. 

Lavender had died days before the Resistance had arrived -- they found her in a cell with claw marks along the walls. Her fingernails were gone. She had died slowly, from an unknown curse that left her drained of blood. But it didn’t matter in the end -- the numbers worked in their favor. And they could count the mission as a success.

You avoided Malfoy with ease as time went on, stiffening only slightly when a flash of platinum caught your eye. He continued his onslaught of self-flagellation, hurtling towards some unseen relief. He kept his eyes on you whenever you passed in hallways or at safehouses, but you ignored the pull of him. 

It wasn’t until 6 months later that you were summoned again to Grimmauld Place. Malfoy had edged you out as an advisor for battle strategy, the Order members now viewing you as too emotional to be effective. Your strategy skills were transitioned to logistical planning -- organizing food stores and safe houses, recruiting muggle allies. Numbers really became just numbers then, and you could sleep without counting the dead you had authorized. And yet you knew Malfoy was now planning missions, always placing himself in the frontlines. Nobody stopped him, and nobody noticed the Dark Magic wreaking havoc on his body. He really did want to die. 

  
  


At Grimmauld Place, you gathered in the same room as before. You and Malfoy had been paired together for a series of missions to retake seized safehouses. The war was now crawling along as Harry searched Albania, and the Order was low on supplies. Malfoy was chosen for his ability to cast Dark curses back to back, and you were chosen for your vast knowledge of safehouse locations. And, they knew you would never hold Malfoy back from using necessary force. 

* * *

  
  


And so your partnership with Malfoy began. You continued your steadfast avoidance of his eyeline, still seething from your last encounter. You would never admit to it, but his effect on you was as embarrassing as it was intoxicating. And unfortunately, you ignoring him only seemed to intrigue him. As you traveled from location to location, either on foot or muggle transport to avoid apparition, he found new ways to get your attention. 

It started with featherlight touches -- two fingers on the inside of your wrist, right on your pulsepoint. Your eyes were watching the countryside roll by out the window, and Malfoy’s touch startled you out of your daydreaming. Without turning to look at him, you could feel him lean towards your ear.

“Our stop is next.” He was far closer than necessary, and the warmth of him seeped through your coat. His fingers slipped from your wrist. 

Still without looking at him, you nodded and grabbed your things. His gaze was heavy on your back as you exited the train.

This continued for some time -- his knee flush against yours on train rides or in meetings with other Resistance members. You never moved away, determined not to recoil. Instead, you started leaning into his touches, but denied him the eye contact he sought. This pissed him off even more. 

One night you felt particularly nasty, as the simmering tension between you two threatened to boil over. You had reclaimed a smaller safehouse, but were running low on food and had drafted a dodgy plan to retrieve some. You were sitting on the couch reviewing the plans, in the familiar position: your right leg resting against his left, your hands holding the papers. His left arm draped around the couch behind your back, and his torso crowding you in. It would’ve been very domestic, had he not called you a bitch.  
  


You still can’t remember why he did it, but you turned towards him and slapped his face. Hard. As your palm met his cheek, you stared straight into his eyes for the first time since that meeting about Hastings. 

He caught your hand and pinned it to his chest, panting. You were panting too. His eyes were drinking you in, and the raw hunger you saw there frightened you. So you stood up and fled to the room, taking the bed for the night. 

The next day was when you returned drenched, and empty handed. When he warmed you and shared the same bed. 

* * *

_Yes, you can see now how all these moments have brought you here. To now._

_Now_ and _here_ is in Manchester, in one of the larger reclaimed safehouses that serves as a secondary headquarters. You and Malfoy were summoned five days ago, the morning after you shared a bed. You haven’t talked much since then, especially seeing as you woke up alone the following morning. As you padded out to the living room, you could hear Snape’s drawl and felt an urge to retreat. Fighting down the panic, you walked out with your head held aloft, meeting Snape’s meaningful gaze. 

“Kind of you to join us, Miss Granger.” He condescended, before handing you a manila folder. Malfoy stood composed next to Snape, his face a cool mask. 

You both were being summoned to Manchester to weigh in on Northern strategy. The three of you left immediately, with Snape seemingly always between you two to prevent any ghosting touches. 

Your arrival in Manchester was welcomed with a crushing hug from Ginny, and some cheekiness from Fred. He pulled you into an embrace, grazing his hand low to pinch your arse, laughing a kiss into your neck. Malfoy stood brooding in the corner, and you met his eye-line as you kissed Fred’s cheek. 

Ginny noticed. 

“So you’re sleeping with the Ferret, now?” 

Her teasing lilt jolts you out of your reverie, and you meet her gaze in the mirror. You’re in the room you two are sharing, getting ready for the “party” that’s really just a front for drinking into detachment. 

She’s applying mascara to her pale lashes, her mouth agape as her breath frosts the mirror glass. In the few days she’s been here, she’s found some Christmas lights and strung them around the vanity, and the room glows red with the light. 

“I’m not having sex with anyone, Gin.” You primly respond. You carefully omit the phrase _sleeping with_ , as you could very well be described as someone who _slept_ with Malfoy. But Ginny doesn’t need to know the details of your non sexlife. 

You start parsing through the makeup strewn across the vanity -- there’s not much, and most of it is old. You find a plummy lipstick and absentmindedly blot it in the middle of your lips, before deciding to wipe it off. Your lips look bruised now, but it looks nice enough. 

She turns to you, pointing the mascara wand dangerously close to your face. 

“There’s no way you’ve both been traveling across England, all alone, and not fucked. I don’t believe that for one second. Late nights, shared showers… it’s way too sensual.” 

You slowly grab her wrist to direct the mascara away from your face, laughing. 

“I promise, I would tell you! Sadly my sex life is all cerebral at this point. Malfoy and I have a completely professional relationship, and yes -- there are times where I wish we were the type of people to let off steam in more physical ways. But honestly, I think we both just come with too much baggage.” 

She looks at you thoughtfully, before grabbing what looks like a small comb. She steps forward, and starts brushing your brows into submission. 

“Everyone comes with baggage, Hermione. Everyone deserves pleasure. You deserve to enjoy things.” She places the comb back on the vanity, as you swallow a lump in your throat. 

“Anyways, I’ve seen the look he gives you -- and the look you give him. You’re both too focused on depriving yourself. But cut that shite out. Have fun. Get fucked senseless. Have you seen that V thing he has?” 

She points two forefingers above her pelvis, indicating abdominal muscles shaped like a V. “I saw his shirt go up a bit yesterday, and I saw that fucking V. I love that.” She turns back to the mirror to primp her long hair, carefully eyeing you in the reflection. 

_I’ve seen that fucking V too,_ you think, before selecting a peach cream blush to dot on your cheeks. 

You’ve settled on a leather mini-skirt to make Ginny happy, and a wool jumper to make yourself more comfortable. You both walk downstairs to find the party in full swing, with Seamus doling out entire bottles of firewhiskey to other Resistance members. 

“Hermione,” he whistles, before pulling you into a sidelong hug. “I haven’t seen your hair down in a long time. Not such a rat’s nest now, is it?” He yells drunkenly into your ear, and you lean away from his hot breath cascading across your face. 

“Yeah I keep it back now since it’s easier to manage -- oh, thank you.” You awkwardly babble before accepting his proffered bottle of liquor. You quickly duck under his arm before wandering about the house, carefully picking your way across strewn trash and drunken bodies. Your eyes are immediately drawn to a slender form in the corner, his back to you. He’s wearing your favorite jumper, a dark gray that makes his eyes flash. You wonder if he wears a t-shirt underneath, and if you could see those V-shaped muscles if you lifted the hem. 

As if feeling your stare, he immediately turns and locks eyes with you. You clutch the bottle of cool liquid closer to your chest, and he beckons you with a quick nod. You can see he’s talking to Parvati and Fred, who both look properly sloshed. 

You approach the group, stopping beside Malfoy. Your entire left arm tingles as it rests against his body, and Fred raises his eyebrows at the contact. You didn’t notice a nagging anxiety to be near Malfoy until you finally touch him, and you log that data for investigation later. 

“So ‘Mione, Malfoy was just telling us you’re shite at cooking -- is that so?” Fred pries the bottle of firewhiskey from your arms, which you eagerly give up. You didn't even know Fred and Malfoy were on speaking terms, but you suppose you can dig into this later.

“No, I’m quite good at cooking -- just turns out Prince Draco has a spoiled palate,” you shoot back, raising your arms in exasperation. The jumper you’re wearing, which you suspect is Malfoy’s favorite, has sleeves far too long. They flop while you talk animatedly, until Malfoy grabs your wrist. 

“Christ, Granger, why do you insist on wearing things twice your size.” His voice has the drawl you remember from school, but his eyes are warm. With a huff, he sets to rolling up the cuffs of your sleeves, his long fingers grazing the sensitive flesh of your inner wrists. His ears tinge pink.

“Well, maybe in terms of tops -- but my, my, Hermione -- that skirt is quite tiny. I didn’t even know you had legs.” Fred leers, taking a swig from the bottle, waggling his eyebrows at your bare legs. You stick your tongue out like the swot you are, and laugh at his offended reaction. 

“Stop it boys, you’ll embarrass her. She’s already blushing.” Parvati joins in, giving you a knowing look. You shy away from her glance. 

“She always blushes. You can always keep an eye out for it, right here,” Malfoy lowly says, bringing a hand up to lightly rest on her throat. Your eyes dart to his, the rest of the conversation fading to a distant buzz. His eyes drill into yours, as he swiftly brushes his thumb across your pulse point. His hand falls away, and he continues talking with Parvati. If you weren’t blushing before, you are now. A dull ache persists in your knickers, and you instantly reach for the bottle of firewhiskey. 

“Easy there, girl,” Fred laughs out, as you take a swig. It’s not enough to dull the heat in your core, but it’ll do for now. You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, catching Malfoy’s suppressed laughter next to you. 

_He knows, that prick._

You spin on your heel, refusing to look at his shocked gaze as you leave the group. You mean to go outside to grab fresh air, but instead wind your way up the stairs to your shared room with Ginny. 

The room is empty, and still glowing with the red light. You close the door behind you, not bothering to cast a locking spell since Ginny always knocks. Anyways, you’d be able to hear any approaching footsteps. 

You approach the vanity, and are surprised at what you see in the mirror. You are flushed, right up the column of your throat, as Malfoy predicted. The memory of his hands cause your knickers to dampen, and you groan at your own sexual frustration. You can see the telltale signs: pupils blown wide, gooseflesh along your bare legs. Your nipples harden beneath your wool jumper, scratching against the fabric. You’d foregone a bra since they aren’t very comfortable, and the jumper usually hides your breasts. Not anymore. 

You realized it’s been awhile since you’ve masturbated, seeing as you’ve had zero privacy for the past few months. Traveling with Malfoy leaves very little room for wanking, especially seeing as you often leave the bathroom door unlocked while showering so he can grab any needed items. Plus, you would never masturbate out on a couch in the living room, but even when you had the bed -- you just couldn’t relax enough to finish. And now, with the never-ending touches from Malfoy, compounded with general stress of this damn war, and he had to go _fucking_ touch your throat again. Add in a dash of firewhiskey, and you are hornier than you’ve been since a teenager. 

Biting your lip, you eye the door as you ghost your hands over your breasts. You can make it quick, make it back to the party. Just focus, don’t get too in your own head. You can’t imagine returning to Malfoy’s smirking gaze now, your knickers a right mess and needing release. Just get it done now. 

Slowly, you back onto the room’s bed, keeping an eye on the door. You know you could easily lock it with magic, but something keeps you. Maybe the danger of it all. 

You pinch one nipple, then the other, before letting out a low sigh. You pull off the jumper shakily, exposing your breasts to the red light and the chill. Closing your eyes, you pinch both nipples again, before throwing your head back in a low moan. 

A soft knock raps at the door.

“Granger, you hiding in there?” 

You knew it was him by the sound of his knock. You know the sound of him in his totality -- the sound of his footsteps, the sound of his breath. You know him by all senses, really. Maybe not taste. 

You freeze there, breath caught in anticipation. Both hands rest on your breasts, your body quivering as you sit perched on the end of the bed. In nothing but your skirt, knickers, and boots. 

You knew he would come find you, you realize. The pull is too strong. 

He tries the handle, and finding it unlocked, slowly opens the door. You can only see the outline of his frame, dark against the warm light of the hallway. You hear his slow exhale, before he abruptly steps into the room, casting a locking spell on the door behind him. He leans against the door, staring. He’s all shadows and red light, the party a distant thrum in the background. You stare back at him, challenging his gaze. 

His eyes drift down to your hands, where they sit expectantly, your forefingers and thumb lightly squeezing your pronounced nipples. You watch him watch you, and pinch. 

“Fuck,” he lowly hisses, running a hand over his mouth. 

He slowly walks over to you, lithe as a predator. You suddenly remember how dangerous he can be, and wonder if you’re starting something you can’t stop. 

Instead of joining you as you expected, he walks in front of you, leaning against the vanity. Facing you, he braces both arms on the vanity’s top. The room is oppressively silent, save for your gasping breath. You think for a moment that he might not speak.

“What do you have underneath your skirt, Granger.” You can’t believe how calm he sounds, as if this is a habitual topic. This is new territory -- and you're not sure how to proceed. Months and months of avoiding eye contact and innocuous touching, and now _this_.

Your hands shakily reach to unzip your skirt. 

“No, not yet. Keep that on.” Malfoy’s voice is soft, but his eyes are searing. He runs one forefinger across his lower lip. 

_Oh_. This is definitely new territory. You’re afraid to speak, so you keep your gaze locked on his. Trying to communicate how much you want this, how much you need this. You hate him for it.

He nods, and cocks his head to the side. 

“Can you take off your knickers, Granger?” 

You nod, slowly reaching beneath the skirt to grab the scraps of lace Ginny recommended. You pull them down, noting how wet they already are. 

“That’s good. Now open your legs. Let me see that pretty cunt.” 

His words send a jolt to your clit, and you let out a whine you’ve never heard before. Resting your hands atop the bed, you spread your legs wide. You've never held his hand before, never kissed him. And now you're baring yourself to him after denying him your eye contact. You almost feel vertigo from the change in direction. 

“Very good, now hike that skirt up so I can see you better.” 

You do so, drawing the leather up over your bum. You almost have to look away from his scorching gaze, but he’s not looking at your eyes. 

He lets out a long sigh, releasing tension you hadn’t noticed before. He’s drinking up the sight of your sex, unbashed in any way. He's silent for some time, and you're growing wetter from the anticipation.

Distantly, you wonder why he isn’t touching you now. But you’ve never been so aroused by someone _looking_ at you, so you wait. Actually, you’ve never been so aroused before in your life. 

“Touch yourself, Granger. Show me how you like it.” His voice is a firm caress.

A flush breaks out across your breasts, crawling its way up your throat. His fingers twitch on top of the vanity, before gripping the edge. You can see his knuckles turn white, as he catches himself from reaching towards you. _Your move_ , his body seems to scream. 

You bring one hand to your throat, and tentatively stick two fingers in your mouth. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob, and slowly drag the saliva down your throat again to your left breast. His eyes shutter closed briefly, before locking his gaze onto your fingers. You again pinch that nipple, and let out a soft moan. 

“Pinch harder,” He breathes. And so you do. 

You both moan openly, and your right hand skates down your abdomen to lightly brush your slit. It’s soaking. 

“Spread for me, Granger. Just like that. That’s so good.” You moan at his praise as you spread your folds, closing your eyes at the carnality of it.  
  
“Uh uh,” he tsks. “Look at me, Hermione.” He says your name like a curse, and your left hand pinches your nipple again. You’ve never sounded so wanton in your life. 

You open your eyes to find his boring into yours, and without thinking, add a finger to your heat. His eyes dart back to your fingers. Your inner walls flutter around your finger, wanting more to grab onto.

  
“Keep pinching your nipples.” He softly orders. Your left hand attends to the other breast, tweaking the nipple harshly as your other hand slowly pumps in and out. 

“You’ve never looked prettier, Granger. Can you add another finger for me?” You nod, adding another to your heat. It’s not nearly enough, and you frantically start pumping faster, canting your hips forward to get more friction.

  
  
You would think him completely unaffected had you not seen the growing bulge in his trousers. Everything else about him looks so composed. 

“That’s so good, Granger. Now spread wider, yes. And curl your fingers inside you, just like that. Don’t stop pinching your nipples, don’t you dare fucking stop.” 

You’ve never really heard him talk so much before, and the filth spilling out his mouth has your mind reeling. You desperately try to catalogue every detail of this scene: his powerful stance at the vanity, forearms bare and tendons straining under his pale skin. Knuckles pronounced from his firm grasp on the counter top. His fringe, falling now to hood his eyes. The red light almost pulsing around you both, and the smell of magic and sex hanging heavy. The only sounds are his calm voice, and your frantic fingers and panting. This moment will be burned into your retinas, into your fingertips.

Without you meaning to, a sob chokes out. “Please, Malfoy.”

“Shh, soon. Keep going, keep fucking yourself with that hand. Now bring the other down and show me how you like your clit touched. 

You oblige, sinking down onto your elbows so you could still watch him watch you. Your other hand races down, circling languidly around your clit just like you like. You watch him suck in a breath, pressing one palm against his trousers. That’s the only movement he’s made so far. Your hips are now bucking lewdly, but you can't find the presence of mind to be embarrassed.

“Fuck Granger, you’re so wet.” He sounds in awe, almost pained. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing you like this. You have no idea how many times I’ve wanked to an idea of you. Nothing could prepare me." His eyes are scanning your body now, zoning in on your throat, your eyes, your nipples, your cunt. Memorizing you.  
  
He groans. "Fuck you and your sweet touches. _Ignoring_ me -- I used to think you were some saint, but your punishment has been wicked, _my tormentor_. I've been wanking for months from just the feeling of you. Your fucking knees, your shoulders touching mine. And then you _force_ me to sleep next to you, all cold and fucking miserable. You _punisher_. Slap me one night, then need comfort and care like a _little broken bird_ the next. You're _ruining me._ " He hisses these words, his own breath hitching as you scrape one nail against your clit. 

You fall back against the mattress, unable to handle his filthy words and his heavy gaze. Your fingers don’t stop, you're not sure if you could stop them if you wanted to. The squelching sounds are so graphic, but his heavy pants serve as encouragement. He finally sounds uncontrolled. _Good_.

Suddenly, you hear a soft thud and bolt upwards. Malfoy is on his knees, hands framing your body on the bed. His eyes are locked on your lewd and jerky hand movements. Your walls clench tighter around your fingers, hips thrusting with need. You hear him softly hum, before leaning forward and blowing cool hair on your sex. _Fuck._

“ _Please_ , Draco,” you beg. His name a plea in itself. That seems to finally break him.

He swiftly grabs your wrists in one hand, pulling your fingers out with a slick sound. Your body stutters at the sudden emptiness, and he presses your hands firmly against your stomach.

Immediately, he places two of his long fingers into your heat. He presses your clit with his thumb, _hard_. Your body convulses then, and your hips eagerly thrust into his fingers, a sob wrenched out of your throat. You almost come from this contact, every nerve ending on fire.

A knock raps at the door, and your heart nearly gives out before slamming into overdrive. His fingers slow their movement, your hips rolling in a plea. You sit up, and beg him again with your eyes. His own silver irises darken, and he curls his fingers mercilessly. He begins pumping them slowly, savoring each time your walls clench his fingers. A high whine gets caught in your throat.

  
“Yes?” You call out, hoping the person on the other end doesn’t hear the breathlessness in your voice.

“Uh hey Hermione -- It’s me.” Malfoy doesn't stop, reveling in the way you bite down your moans.

**Ginny**. “Harry and Ron are here, if you want to come down.” There's a slyness to her voice, a smile there too. Fuck it. 

Malfoy’s fingers turn punishing, slamming up into you. Your toes curl as he hooks his fingers, pressing against that spot _right there_. 

“Okay be right there!” You shrilly reply, as Malfoy removes his fingers. _No._ You're so close you might sob, maybe strangle him -- maybe both. You sit upright.

In one languid swoop, he runs his tongue from your arsehole up to your clit, holding your gaze as he does it. Your brain short circuits. _This is filthy_. You let out a guttural moan, pleading the gods that Ginny has already left the hallway.

He replaces his fingers again, curling them as he suckles at your clit. Unflinchingly. His eyes burn against yours, and he releases your wrists to run his hand up your throat. He scrapes a nail against your pulse, right as he runs his teeth over your clit. _Punisher_.

That does it. Fractals of light explode across your vision, and your fingers wrap themselves through his hair. You're holding him in place, and hear and _feel_ him moan against you. You bring a fist to your mouth, biting down to keep your sounds in. You try to ride out the orgasm, but Malfoy doesn't stop. Instead he laps everything up, licking up and down your slit and crack while shoving your skirt higher. Your moans are wrenched out of you, violent.

Eventually you come to, blinking in the hazy red as your hips stutter to a stop. You look down at Malfoy, to see he's leaning back on his heels in a crouch. Smirking, he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, your fluids smearing across his chin.  
  
“Come on, Granger. Let’s go see Saint Potter.” 


End file.
